Teenage Kicks
by juliasejanus
Summary: Alex had played Monopoly, now life was reflecting that game. He refuses the Banks request for cooperation so goes straight to jail. The High Security one for people who don't officially exist. There he recognises the imprisoned assassin. Escape by any means possible becomes Alex's new goal.
1. Chapter 1

Ten weeks after Cairo, Alex was stood in Tulip Jones' Office, after a problem with his 'fostering arrangements' brought him back to London. The teenager stared at her, not believing she had just threatened Sabina to get him to comply to being their whipping boy again.

"Suck my dick, bitch" spoken in the flat emotionless tone was all he could reply to that lame blackmail, as he moved his finger slightly to press the button on the phone in his pocket to message Edward that MI6 were playing hard ball.

"There is no need for such foul language!" stated the woman who was probably called a bitch a hundred times a day.

The teenager sneered and retaliated with "That stick you're wielding may have worked for Blunt after Ian died, but I owe you shits nothing."

The Head of MI6 Special Operations then revealed the ace up her sleeve, as Alex had not responded as the analyst's predicted to the partial email sent from Nice, "Not even Jack Starbright's life?"

With the perfect imitation of shock on his face, Alex then grinned letting on that he was playing his own game, not theirs. "Right. Got me there. Only Byrne is so in on that retrieval since she's an American citizen. Did you think I'd go off on my own again, playing the hero over that email you sent me? She'll be stateside before you even get me close to the Grimaldi's. Maybe last year I'd have been your pavlovian dog, but after McCain, I learned my lesson." Alex had come willing as MI6 still technically held his legal guardianship, but it was only a few months until his sixteenth birthday, when he could gain semi-emancipation helped by Edward publishing the dirt on Blunt. "Go on then, what's the alternative now? Reform school? Borstal? Children's home? Fostered by the SAS?"

Alex had no time to react to the sharp pain in his neck as he slumped forward bonelessly onto the floor as the fast acting toxin laced dart paralysed him, taking a few more seconds for full unconsciousness to descend.

…..

Snake recognised the sedated prisoner. He had dutifully checked him over, witnessing the scars from burns, knives and bullet. Cub had lived in interesting times. The file stated he was here for his own protection. The base on Raasay was the last place to send a fifteen year old, but Cub had survived the worst of SAS hazing at fourteen. It was not the medics place to question orders direct from MI6, but this was wrong on so many levels.

He noted the increased heart rate as the poison worked its way through the kid's system. As a precaution over the recent chest wound, the medic paid close attention to his charge, who was on a drip, food supplements, oxygen and catheter and was likely to spend the next two weeks on full bedrest getting over the toxin's after effects.

…..

After 10 days in quarantine in the base hospital, Alex wondered what the rest of this super secret prison was like. All he knew is it was a former missile warning base, reusing top secret facilities mined out during the second world war. He had lost nearly a stone in weight, but overall felt much better now the muscle tremors and double vision had stopped; he still felt as weak as a kitten, even with Snake and the other medic here mothering him. He was alert wondering if the medic would smuggle out notes for Sabina and Edward, that was his only plan for escape at the moment. Did the teenager think the SAS officer would send them on? Not likely in the long run, yet the guy had shown him pictures of his four kids and his soulmate, Keeley. The medic grinned as he admitted he had already broken all the rules on non fraternisation with the inmates. Only he was here for his own protection. Mostly a prisoner for his own good, because he was too friendly with the CIA or because he'd left once already and the stupid analysts had him down as future terrorist material. The real reason was to keep Edward Pleasure in line. He had to think about survival strategies. Would he be allowed to finish school? He wanted his GCSE's but was already so far behind.

The woman psychologist was appraising him like he was the devil incarnate. Alex sighed and then dutifully explained,"From your expression I can surmise you knew Julius Grief. I'm Alex and my psycho twin is pushing up daisies."

"I have read your file." was spoken so filled with spite and hate, as the woman introduced herself "I'm Dr. Flint. I am here to assess you." Then the woman stared at her list of questions, took a deep breath as of this was a total chore and then started.

The next hour passed with Alex saying very little. After the last question was ignored, the prisoner then apologised "Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for lying, small talk or sharing. Just tell Ms. Jones that I'm being difficult, I'm sure that's what she's expecting."

Dr. Flint could see the unmistakable signs of depression in the teenager's half hearted replies and pauses. Placed here against his will, imprisoned to keep him alive. Her report would be fair, stating that there had to be a better solution than slowly breaking a boy's spirit. A young man so different from Grief, one who seemed resigned to this travesty of safe. She wondered why MI6 had placed him here, as all casual observers with the wherewithal to hack top secret files, would assume it was the Grief abomination imprisoned here not MI6's teen wonder.

On leaving, Alex turned as he got to the door of the interview room, "I don't think you need to waste your time on me. I got by with no head shrinking before and well, its not like I need to be sane as I refuse to dance to Tulip's tune."

…..

Snake walked Alex from the hospital wing in the the main prison area, as the invalid's pace was alarmingly slow. Explaining ground rules as he went: Private rooms and allotted shower times, 90 minutes above ground during overhead satellite free intervals, with the walled garden to tend near the automatic lighthouse. The barracks above ground was always manned by two personnel, supposedly scientists studying the large avian population. No one could swim anywhere as the currents would drag the individual into the deadly whirlpool, which also meant no boats came near. Only forty to sixty days of good weather a year so being underground was the best option in this isolated island where birds outnumbered man by 10,000 to one.

Alex wore his new uniform already, it was dark brown and green. He hated it already, but it was warm. He bet the pyjamas here were made of this dirt coloured fleece as well. The illness had softened this hard transition in living arrangements, as had the friendly old brother routine from the medics and the few guards who had dropped by the hospital wing.

The new arrival had avoided the attention of the other special guests as he settled into his 4m by 3m home from home. His few possessions, cleared as non-threatening, were already on his bed, not that he had brought much from San Francisco. Just a few clothes, a handful of photos, books and DVDs and his iPod. His phone had been confiscated. His bag of toiletries was there and six months worth of replacements. He stared in distaste at the loo and sink in the corner with no screening from the CCTV or the door, which he could not lock. Life had become surreal in the extreme, as his future had morphed into the predictions of the bullies and teachers at Brookland. Druggie Rider was now a con in the worst prison in Britain. This was 5 star porridge with three guards to each prisoner. They had even supplied two porn magazines and some lube. Guess they figured he was a normal teenager on that front, then Spook Central probably had his wank session in the loos at the fourteenth floor of Liverpool Street Headquarters on tape.

He put his stuff away in the unit, made his bed and laid down, not expecting to fall asleep. His short nap turned into four solid hours until he was woken by the guard, a tall black guy called Cobra, for lunch.

"You were dead to the world, Cub. Now, you have to eat your greens and get your mojo back. Fucking arseholes in London drugging a kid with serious pulmonary problems, but then that bunch of jokers got us up shit creek with no paddle in Iraq. Three tours and not one fucking WMD in sight."

…

Six prisoners had been drugged during their transfer from Gibraltar to Scotland. From the balmy pleasant retreat to this cold hell. The silent assassin watched and waited. He knew there was another arrival in custody. The fact they had spent days recovering was surprising. He had shaken off the drugs aftereffects after 48 hours. His lessons in Malagosto meant he knew the side effects of that paralysing agent and he knew his body well enough to use meditation and yoga to realign his chi. Even with his recent chest surgery, he was still fitter than all the others staying here at Her Majesty's pleasure.


	2. Chapter 2

The wind was wet with a mix of spray and rain as it hit the teenager in the face. He was mesmerised by the dark grey swell of the Atlantic Ocean. Considering he had only been here for less than two weeks he had observed the three exits to their underground prison. Only there was nowhere to escape to except certain death, if you chanced the sea or stayed out to die of exposure. The guards did not need to play hunter, preferring to stay dry and warm themselves. In the cliffs, the teenager could just make out the nests of the gulls, kittiwakes, puffins and chuffs.

Alex shivered, his clothes already soaked through, but he did not want to go back. He was not crying, it was just the howl of the wind and the saltwater from the spray. How may lies had MI6 spun him? They had led him around like a prize bull, as his misadventures in France, Venice, Saint Dominics, even Kenya were their doing in not helping or believing him, moving him like a chess piece and driving him to this hell. He could not help but replay the shock of his life at lunch. Yassen was alive, sitting eating and completely emotionless at the arrival of John's son. The assassin imprisoned after surviving Cray's bullet. The fifteen year old's shirt was still unbuttoned from his show and tell, the scar from Nice on his side, proving to Cossack this was the real deal not Grief's not so perfect imitation. He wiped his face, knowing the Russian had seen his assassination scar as well, just above his heart, so had everyone else.

He sat down in the heather and watched the storm increase in intensity. Nature matching his maelstrom of emotions. Alex being here proved he had failed on all levels. He was not an assassin for SCORPIA, he was not a schoolboy in Chelsea or San Francisco, nor was he the patriotic spy, the Stepford nephew wanted by Ian. The hate he had felt for his uncle's murderer no longer fuelled any desire for revenge. He only felt kinship for the killer and anger at Ian. The psychologist would probably recommend Broadmoor, Ashworth or Rampton for him, cause he was clearly nuts.

As the shivering stopped, the desire for sleep descended. Alex knew he either moved or died of exposure. He got up, but rather than run or stumble back to the face the music, he walked to the cliff edge. Another step to oblivion, when a dark shape tackled him to the ground.

"No fucking suicide's on my watch" was hissed as the teenager as his arms were pinned behind his back and restraints were attached to his wrists. " Fuck it Cub! Its not that bad. Better than Brecon, ain't it. For crying out loud, look at you! Snake is going to have a shit fit. He only just got you fit and well, now you pull this!"

Alex laughed hysterically, as he could not even die because of his status as 'kid' brother to the SAS nut jobs guarding him. He wanted to scream at Cobra that their silent assassin had murdered his uncle a week before he had been sent to Wales by Blunt. Only they would then see Cossack as the enemy and treat him accordingly, when he wasn't. He was Alex's sort of guardian angel in this topsy turns world of international espionage. All the teenager could do was beg, "Don't take me back. Please, just don't"

…

Alex stood still after Cobra had carried him like a sack of potatoes from the cliff. The corridor was next to the infirmary and the guards quarters. He was silent as he had nothing to say, his emotions under control once more, acting like he was made of stone as Cobra roughly cut off his sopping wet clothes and then manhandled him into the cell with only a thin mattress on the floor. He was left alone after the guard pushed him to the bare room, then threw in a blanket. Alex was not surprised that he was still wearing the wrist restraints.

The teenager sat on the stained mattress, shivering again as the room was fifteen degrees warmer than the storm force winds outside. He was tempted to do Tulip's bidding, just to get away from here. Facing asshats like the Grimaldi's was certain death anyway. He was too tired to ask or do anything, just curling into a foetal position and slept.

He woke groggily, like his limbs were made of lead, back in the hospital wing, under a pile of blankets and tied to the bed by limb restraints. Then the teenager noticed the other bed in the small infirmary was occupied.

Cossack had a heavily bandaged arm, as he turned to face Alex, softly whispering. "I am not SCORPIA's puppet anymore, if you are afraid I will follow through with their threats here, you are very much mistaken. We are both free of manipulation and lies as we have chosen not to bow to pressure. Blunt very much wanted me as his personal killer, using you as bait. They were aware that I strongly disapproved of them blackmailing you into compliance. He told me the truth about John, about you. I would kill Rothman myself for her lies. So, here we are at the edge of nowhere and I am not your enemy, little Alex. Perhaps, now we can be allies."

Alex said nothing in reply. The ball was in his court. Accept, be patient and use this respite to his own advantage. "You said you loved me?"

"I did and I do." Cossack said. "Your nurse is worried about you. So am I. I too lost hope at your age. Survival is not failure, Little Alex. We Russians know that surviving is patiently awaiting victory and vengeance."

Snake came into the room, aware that Alex was awake and staring at the other patient. The teenager then asked "What did Cossack do? Slip up on a banana peel?"

"He has an enflamed boil on his arm. I'm just about to lance it." The nurse was puzzled by Alex calling the assassin by a codename. "Do you know Cossack?"

Alex knew he could be truthful and play this two ways, because Cossack was a cold blooded killer and also his best chance of surviving all this marbles intact. "Yeah, he did not kill me and my foster sister when Cray ordered him too. That's how he was captured. I owe him my life. Sabina thinks he's a bastard, just not a total one." Alex wa sonly realising his imprisonment was games within games, as MI6 were observing this interaction, whether they fought or collaborated. Either way, both died here, MI6 got Alex back or they broke Cossack. Like Chess, he now had to think a way off this board, not as pawn to be discarded or sacrificed.

…..

"Look Snake, I had a blip. It was a one off. I told that psychologist not to come back and I meant it. I will talk to you, to Cobra, I promise. Its just MI6 told me Cossack died. Another big fat lie in a long line of them. I do not trust them to look out for my best interests. In fact, at the moment I trust Cossack more and I do not trust him in the slightest as I only survive as some sort of debt he has to my dead father and FYI my parent's died in 1987. Do the math, I know Cossack way better than my biological parents and my uncle was as much a liar as Blunt, Jones and Crawley and he died a week before I descended on Brecon. Tell that to your chums in K-unit."

…..


	3. Chapter 3

Tulip Jones unwrapped another peppermint, popping the hard sweet confectionary in her mouth to help distract her growing sense of foreboding and pondered the email from the 'training' outpost in the Hebrides. Maybe it would be easier to sack the analysts as Alex Rider was not acting at all as they predicted. The psychological report had warned her over a potential break, but her team downstairs had stated the teenager would acquiesce to a full training and a work contract after a week of detainment. The break had happened over the shock of finding Cossack alive, the boy had effortlessly broken out of the prison and been prevented from throwing himself off the cliff by a guard, but had become dangerously hypothermic during his episode outside.

The Head of MI6 Special Operations was tempted just to call Harlesden Hall and arrange the transfer to its high security psychiatric facility, but that referral on Alex's record would prevent him ever serving in black ops ever again. The fifteen year old had also refused any further therapy. What would another few weeks hurt, as the situation over Nightshade was not on her urgent list and the CIA extraction team had liquidated the Grimaldi's.

…

Cossack would have lanced any 'boil' on his arm himself, but the inflammation had been a self inflicted pustule using food waste from the kitchen sink u-bend glued under his skin. It had looked the part and smelt it. Bandage in place, prescription of antibiotics to take had been cover for his brief conversation with Alex, which had proved he had real reason to worry. John's son was on suicide watch.

Here and in the prison in Gibraltar, he had been silent. Now, he had reason to talk, a reason to cooperate; even if Alex was only here to be bait, a raven, the despair in the young man's eyes had been real. MI6 were up to their usual games with no remorse over consequences. Anger served no purpose, but the killer was angry for the first time since he had murdered Sharikovsky and his family. He could not strike those in London from here and the guards were all concerned over Alex as well. The nurse, Snake, especially so. He walked back to his cell. He would meditate on all interactions with John's son and try to piece together who, what and when the young spy had been broken.

…..

"No change in regime recommended. Accept that Cub has refused treatment. Keep under close observation. Next contact as scheduled." Cobra wanted to scream when he was handed the response from London. His only option was to keep order, keep to schedules and probably bury a kid because MI6 were a bunch of tossers. The rota was set, without special arrangements they did not have the manpower to keep a full suicide watch. He was not going to keep a kid in punishment cells, not after the dressing down Snake had handed out over Cub's hypothermia. He was tempted to place Cub in Barracks and damn the rules and regulations. With a deep breath, he knew each of them would to an extra two hours in the hospital wing for a few days. Better than watching reruns of shit tv, or rereading the dross in the library. He could not wait for the service change over in three weeks. He had been planning going back into general rotation, but with Cub here, he might sign on for another three months of cold and boring routine as the past two weeks had been more fun than the last two months.

…

Rat was sat contemplating his puzzle book, as Cub was sound asleep, but his last check at five, had shown his vitals had been good as expected. In twenty minutes, Snake would be here for his twelve hour shift. The SBS medical specialist was the night shift medic here. There was no doctor, as the move to Scotland had stripped down unnecessary personnel. Six prisoners and their guards, a mix of paras, marines, SBS, SAS and MI5 guards were stationed here. The kid had not complained over using bottle and bedpan, had eaten his dinner and supper and been in good humour despite the restraints. The betting pool over Cub's escape attempt had been won by Snake, who had sagely put the money back in the kitty with a note saying they could pay out again when the kid got off the island and back to civilisation. Double o nothing the Sergeants at Brecon had described him. Something was very off with the kid. Betrayal most likely. Cobra was damn sure it was the spooks in London playing mind games. Their gaffer had been part of the clean up crew in Gibraltar after the Grief kid broke out. External threats were highly unlikely here, not with the regular Navy patrols, whose main job was to act as surface cover for boats out of Faslane. The base was supplied from Northern Ireland, not the mainland and those bases still operated on no road in traffic. He went back to his puzzle then noticed the shadow by the door.

"Cell Seven, Sir. I request some pain medication. I could not sleep. My arm, it is throbbing."

The medic then pointed to offer the other chair, aware that the guard/prisoner dynamic had changed subtly with the arrival of Cub, as if some barrier had fallen allowing interaction between those interned and those here for hazard pay. "You'll have to wait until six, for additional cover. Pull up a chair and I'll switch on some soft music. The kid probably won't stir. He'll be woken for a full check then anyway." Rat pondered if the control room was comatose or worse, as no alert had sounded. The prisoners were on a strict curfew except for medical emergency between 9 and 6, but no escort had accompanied No. 7. The medic pondered the other big news last night as Cub had called the assassin, Cossack. Seemed like everyone had callsigns here, thought the soldier, he could not wait to go back to being just plain Rob.

….

Snake sent Rat off to collect the paracetamol tablets from stores "Sorry, seven. I should have given those to you yesterday, but I was a bit distracted."

The blond man smiled and looked at the still sleeping teenager. "The boy should not be here. I knew his father. He was a good man. MI6 also, formerly SAS. A friend at a time I had no-one. I owed him my life. I wish for Alex happiness and not this, not my world. He was too young when I saved his life. He still is." With his tablets, the no longer silent occupant of cell 7 stealthily returned there. The two guards on watch, would be reprimanded later for not noticing his early morning visit to the hospital and endure 7 days of kitchen and cleaning duty as punishment.

….

With his restraints and drip removed Alex ate two portions of salted porridge and drank four cups of proper hot, strong and sweet army tea for breakfast.

Snake smiled at his good appetite. "Right, full talk now. Why? What caused this blip yesterday? I'm using your terminology cause to us here it was a full intervention to stop you jumping off that 40 foot high cliff onto granite boulders below. There is no coastguard or lifeboats here. You would have died. So, spill. I'm an excellent liar so I can spot bullshit when I hear it."

"Cossack…. He was a friend of my dad's. John Rider, DSO, MC, Falklands war hero; who was a MI6 undercover agent when they crossed paths. My dad saved Cossack's life. We met, just after training with you lot. I was sent to stay with Herod Sayle. I should not be telling you any of this. OSA and all that, its just I saw him again over the Cray business. That shithead ordered Cossack to kill me and Sabina and well, he didn't and took a bullet in our place. He's the bad guy, only he isn't. Its all so fucked up as well." Alex took a drink of water, using the pause to collect his thoughts. The teenager then whispered "Can you keep a secret? No tell the Bank I mean? I don't mind the guys here knowing, I can take ribbing over it. Only its personal not Top Secret."

Snake leaned closer and then whispered back "Sure, Alex. The bank is not playing ball anyway."

From that terse statement, Alex guessed Snake had requested a medical transfer and been rebuffed. "Right. Have you seen my room? Two posters. One of Baryshnikov and the other of Aleksandr Godunov. I like dancers. Male Dancers. With Cossack. I think he's fit OK. Hot. My type, with that body! You see my problem. Absolute bastard and I'm a bit of a love sick puppy, not helped by the guy being totally out of character with me. One he does not put a bullet between my eyes when he shot Sayle. Said he had no orders. Biggest bit of bullshit I've heard in my life. Says he owes my dad. Only that only works for that one occasion, not the three other times he should have killed me. I think he likes me too."

Snake sat back and digested this very ordinary teen problem, hormones. "Look, that killer is not ideal boyfriend material. If I was your dad, I'd say he's too old. Your jailbait anyway. Can we just get you some better, more suitable porn and keep it to unrequited yearning, helped along by lots of wanking."

Alex laughed at that. "You're too late for that. When Cossack was shot, like awful chest wound and it looked lethal. He confessed he loved me. So, you have star crossed lovers here. Outside, I knew Cobra was watching, with a good chance he would stop my stupidity when I was considering a jump overboard. It was my ploy at getting away from him. I stay and we are going to interact. I give it a week and we will be fucking. I bet he's possessive as fuck so it'll be no going back, for those in London or the guys here. I will be sleeping with the enemy. Jones has made her choice and its the wrong one."


	4. Chapter 4

The prisoners were held incommunicado. The only uncensored information came from new inmates. All other news and media was at the digression of the security services. TV was was controlled content, so the programmes received were innocuous and judged to keep the prisoners calm and docile.

The prisoners had split into two groups with the older former weapons inspector joining either the terrorists or the spies. The lone assassin speaking, to none before the arrival of the young ex-MI6 agent. The terrorists both distrusted the newcomer, thinking his supposed 'suicide bid' a ploy to ingratiate himself as a stooge. The two ex-spies both were based at Whitehall, one MI5 and the other as Whitehall Liaison, and outed as traitors before Alex Rider's short and successful career in black ops. Neither of who would ever be traded anywhere except in exceptional circumstances. They were disinterested in this teenager having dismissed this mere child as a pawn of MI6 not a real threat.

All at breakfast watched as Cossack was reprimanded for an unauthorised trip to medical, but let off from punishment as he was actually injured. The blond haired man sat down for breakfast and did his usual of watching all, listening and obviously remembering every detail. The terrorists would never let their guard down as assassination was a long play. This man could kill everyone here easily if he chose to act. The older gentlemen had tried his chatty, over friendly pitch to the silent man and respected his continued solitude. There was a brief nod of mutual respect, as each collected their frugal rations.

The always jolly Mitchell Courtney, as chosen spokesperson, then queried Cobra about their new inmate. "This boy, we know he's not Grief and that you treat him as a compatriot, not like us. This is no place for protective custody?"

Cobra looked at the man and stated "he's our problem not yours. You bastards have no right to know nothing. Ask him yourself tomorrow or try and get smiling boy no. 7 to tell you. Anything concerning Cub is covered by the OSA, he's a walking secret that kid. Eat your breakfast and get out of my face."

Courtney in Cell No. 4 smiled and cheerful responded "thank you Cobra, that was most illuminating." The former UN official had been a facilitator for arms dealers for years, helping break embargoes and sanctions, not for money, though that helped, but purely for the chaos caused.

As a SCORPIA mole recruited and sponsored by Max Grenfell, he had expected Cossack's imprisonment purely to ensure his silence, luckily by observation not more permanently. He had always prided himself of his skill to spot Malagosto trained specialists like himself, he was sure the teenager had passed through their doors, with his silent grace and the ease in which he had found the least secure route to the surface so quickly.

Had MI6 turned a mere child operative? He smiled and hummed along to Mahler, liking the change in fortunes. Three Malagosto trained operatives could easily escape, only if they could collaborate. His observations on the boy made him trust his instincts; as Cossack had been to check in him twice and not killed him. The suicide attempt the perfect feign to appear young and vulnerable, making the guards misjudge the viper in their nest.

...

Alex was sat in bed, trying to secure an early release from enforced rest. "I told you I'm OK. I bounce back quickly, though I admit it has been a stressful few months. Cairo was the worst. Complete MI6 fuck up from start to finish." Alex sighed and lay back down. "I miss my foster family. They were so normal and accepting. Though I am more me here with you bunch of nobs, than I was at High School." In a change of tack, Alex was just talking non stop, hopefully to make Snake crack and get his nice quiet hospital back. "So, do I get lessons? I'm easy either GCSE's or International diplomas. I want to finish school sometime and I'm way behind on my coursework considering I've changed school five times in the last year and a half." Alex knew he was stretching the truth there, but he had been passed from pillar to post, from Point Blanc to Cuba, then from Malagosto to Australia, Kenya then Cairo, with far too few days at Brookland in between.

"Calm down, Alex." The SAS man purposefully using the kid's real name. "Do you understand mania, the opposite of depression. I'm no doctor, but you have flipped a switch from lost to completely here and appearing like everything is absolutely fine. I'm now revising my opinion to thinking several days under full time supervision. I'm not throwing you back out there with the wolves, not until I'm happy with you." Snake would normally be keeping fit and running drills with his team here, tending sprains and household injuries. "So, you've been effectively working, with one high stress situation after another since training and no help to rationalise your downtime?"

"Err?" Alex pondered the question, "No, just sent back to Chelsea after the debriefing, or hospital. I found it so hard to fit in, kept loosing friends because I could not tell them anything; which got worse after each mission. I was always on my toes, feeling a freak at school. Then the shooting, when Tom was hurt and Jack had deciding to leave. So, no home in Chelsea. Its too dangerous. Here, its about what I expected the bank to do. At least, I got to spend the summer with Sabina's family. I thought I could go back to sort of normal, try school again. Only I was talking to Byrne, he's CIA and Mrs. Jones did not like that. They can't control me. I do unexpected things. Her analysts are expecting me to act like an agent, but I'm not a volunteer, I'm a teenager forced into this nightmare." Alex's voice had been getting louder. He shut up and started his breathing exercises.

"What are you doing, Alex?" Snake could see the outpouring of emotions just stop dead as his patient put a lid on his distress, to put the emotionless mask back in place. "Anger is natural in your situation."

"Its pointless. Being angry won't change anything. I'll still be here, a prisoner with no human rights. This sucks and blows and there is nothing talking will solve. I taught myself how to get perspective, to keep in the present. I know it probably means I'm not healthy mentally, but I know I'm damaged and I have done for a while. MI6 just want me to dance to their tune and thats my issue here. I want school and normal and its their fault I can't fit in. So here I am. We are still back at square one."

Snake sighed, "I requested therapy in a controlled environment for you. You are aware you need help to get back to normal teenager. Keep talking to me, Rat, Cobra and even that guy in Cell seven." The soldier was completely conflicted, getting a teenager help was not their boss' gameplay. All the others here deserved their imprisonment, but what had Cub done? Obviously, he had worked for the CIA considering he knew an agent personally. The medic was not trained for this. The kid could be running rings around him, but he doubted that. The despair was there. The teenager was completely used to stomping on his emotions and just surviving. The medic had a lot to talk over with Cobra and Rat while Cub had his dinner this evening. Unlike Alex, Snake would be home in Dumbarton in three weeks; only know the career soldier was thinking of leaving the army, unsure of his orders as the world order was no longer Britain good and their enemies bad.

…..

Snake had made his report complete with his disclaimer that he was not a mental healthcare professional. "Look Cobra, we're in a no win situation. So is Alex. He knows how to play the longer game, but in his eyes MI6 are a worse choice than that killer. I'm beginning to see his point of view. We can't push for any sensible outcome as we are as powerless as Cub here."

The team leader sighed. "We keep Cub out of general circulation for 48 hours, for close observation. If he does anything else that we consider a danger to himself or others he goes into punishment cells until our next check in in ten days. He's been doing a man's job for over a year. If he throws in his lot with Seven, this Cossack, then I hope he can live with that, but too that kid its a choice between two sets of utter bastards. Make your choice."


	5. Chapter 5

Alex was back in his cell, laid on the bed staring at his poster of Alexander Godunov: tall, blond and gorgeous; dressed in black from Don Quixote. The teenager had his right hand down his trousers, palming and teasing his cock. He'd left his door open, so there wasn't even the pretence of privacy. This was his first half hour of time on his own in over nearly three weeks, though he knew the Guardroom would have this wank session on tape. Alex was thinking over the last few days, when Snake had tried to be a dad to a young man who had no real idea of family or normal boundaries for behaviour. He was here and there was nothing he could do to change that as MI6 had picked a completely inhospitable outpost for their prison. He knew the next supply run was in 7 days and the full staff change over in two weeks. His arrival had been the last time a helicopter had landed with distant frigate acting as cover. The only way out was to take hostages and the guards were on hazard pay because of that risk. The Malagosto trained teenager had visualised this base, having had a tour of barracks to play a game of poker with Snake last night as a treat. None here bare faced cheated like Eagle, nor were as uptight as Wolf. The depressed fifteen year old was still classed as convalescing, so no communal chores were assigned for his ten day sick period. Cleaning and cooking were shared by rota for all the prisoners. The meal plans were straight out army rations, decided by some faceless bureaucrat.

His musing was not helping him get off, as he remained half hard; when he became aware of his audience. "Morning, Cossack. Come to help me out?"

The older man silently crept further into the room, keeping to the back wall, to remain out of view from the camera. "I would love to touch you, but your friends have warned me you are off limits. Which seemed like a dare to me since you are daunting yourself so wantonly. Show me, expose yourself. I want to see you come."

Alex looked at Cossack, and wriggled to lower his trousers and pants down to his thighs; then biting his lip as it looked like he was performing porn for the camera. It did not take long under the Russian's intense gaze to climax. Alex then licked the come off his hand.

Cossack whispering, Alex lip reading more than hearing, "You are playing with my emotional attachment. Teasing me so. I hope you are aware of what you are letting yourself in for." The assassin then left as silently as he had snuck in.

The teenager murmured to himself as he got up to wash, "an easy choice considering we both like playing with fire and the alternative is being just like Ian"

...

At lunch, the occupant of Room 5 made a B line for the wonderchild only to stop dead at the ice cold withering look from Cossack, who was also headed to that table. The old man shrugged and waved, having enough sense not annoy two trained killers. The spy was oblivious to his apparent popularity as he mashed his lunch into a homogeneous pile then smothered the slop with ketchup.

Cossack just ate the allotted rations, the food was acceptedle, neither good nor bad.

Alex then poured out two glasses of water from the jug. "So, I have exercise for two hours from 3 to 5, then a shower before dinner. How does that compare to your full schedule?"

Cossack answered in Spanish "Both activities are fully supervised. No chance for exploring your sexual fantasies. I would prefer fucking you in a bed. Better still with some toys to play with. Virginity for anal intercourse is not best taken fast and hard with only spit for lubrication. We have no opportunity for anything more than voyeurism."

Alex ate a spoon of his lunch, head down and mumbling with a hand over his mouth, when he added. "I have an idea for a diversion. How much do you trust the others? Who would be in on a escape bid? I want to fuck off into the sunset with you, Yasha. It might be only for a few minutes, hours or days, but being free is my idea of telling MI6 that I'm not their asset, I never was willingly and I plan not to be their puppet ever again. Being dead is better than being like Blunt, Crawley or Jones."

The assassin wondered on the details of Alex's plan. For that they needed to collaborate and share ideas with others. Cossack would not trust any not to betray them. Then again, each of them was worth more dead than alive, as was both Alex and himself. Plan the escape then collect the bounty for each. Alex had professed his wish to follow his heart and be part of the world of an assassin; so would embrace this windfall.

…

Alex went through his katas, watched by the silent and very bored guard. These highly trained soldiers were complacent, expecting their charges to be docile. Not one man trapped here was resigned to this fate. All would jump at the chance of freedom, even if it was offered by the inside man, as this MI6 agent was viewed.

The prison kept the world safe from these dangerous criminals and vice versa kept the prisoners safe from their friends and enemies alike. The teenager was well aware that the only way to keep a secret was to be completely ruthless. His eyes had been opened by abuse and betrayal. Heroics were a waste of energy, as saving the day had made him a lonely prisoner with only an assassin in the mix for amusement. He had been stupid thinking of trying to contact Edward a few days ago. There was no going back only forward. Placing his hopes on a complete psycho was the best idea he'd had for ages. Pure impulsive brilliance, highly likely to get him killed. The escape idea was use his poor misused kid persona to get those grunts to hesitate, none wanting to kill the kid who trained with K-Unit. Alex was 110% sure Cossack was planning to kill everyone anyway and leave no loose ends; then take the helicopter to return to the shattered remains of SCORPIA and sow chaos.

…

Clean up deal comprised the inmates of Cell 5 and Cell 7. Courtney hummed as he used hot water to soak the pans and then whispered to the man loading the dishwasher. "I take it your young coconspirator has formulated an action plan?"

Cossack smiled and shook his head. "A diversion to distract the guards is possible. I know Alex has the schedule for supply runs. I will keep you informed as we plan. He has only judged a possible escape and only if he keeps in the guards good books. I must keep my interactions to a minimum. That does not mean you can approach him. Little Alex is mine. Never forget that."

…..

For the first time in days, the schedule was normal. Everything was calm and the hospital was empty. The only entertainment today was who would win the bet on how many times the kid got off, now he was back in his own quarters. At dinner, it had been twice, once in his cell and once in the shower. Poor man's porn as all here felt slightly ill watching a kid get off.

Cobra wrote his log and was happy that Snake had appeared to get through to the kid about keeping his interest in Cossack to purely friendly. The soldier had warned No. 7 off, but his threats were hardly going to phase a guy who had a kill list into the hundreds if not thousands.


	6. Chapter 6

Boredom was a teenager's worst enemy. Alex had dipped his toe into this strange environment and now felt the need to piss off the four prisoners who were ignoring him. Sure he was underage, not shaving yet, but he was a killer. With the exception of Cossack, he was the most dangerous person in the room, maybe more so considering the Russian who would just kill, whereas Alex wanted to be amused. The teenager often wondered if Yassen got satisfaction from his work, as he was a genuine psychopath. Killing Grief had been cathartic for Alex as any inkling about guilt and disgust about who he was had dissipated. All those he had killed had tried to get him first. The only person to stop and consider a teen spy Yassen had stopped and considered that this child should be in school, at home, loved and protected. Everyone else had stood by and let this train wreck happen, now there was a psycho-killer teen in the mix. One who would not follow orders. Who knows what that bitch Jones was thinking, but her first priority should have been getting their problem teen help, not hiding him like the embarrassment he was.

His first target was Miguel and Carlos in cells three and four, the terror twins, as the teenager had christened them. Those guys deserved dissing for trying to vaporise/eradicate Chelsea and the rest London. His ire was justified after his close shaves against Sarov and Cray. The younger man was all untrimmed beard and righteousness for his cause. From what Alex had observed they were the typical egomaniacs, thinking killing millions would put the world to rights.

The teenager dropped his large bowl of thick and gloppy porridge on the table and sat down while drinking his tea. "Morning chaps, thought I'd let you guys know about Sergei, your supplier. The Russians were not happy about misplacing several kilos of high grade plutonium and your inside man also sold a chunk of it to Sarov, who tried to eradicate Northern Russia last year. Well, my handler at the CIA told me the Russians were ever so careful wringing every detail from Dr Blenkin. Used an outside contractor for that, so the guy was begging for the bullet coming his way. Anyhow, you guys are worth 10 mill dead each, thats dollars not roubles by the way. I can totally understand your reluctance to end this little holiday retreat. Oh dear, Cossack overheard all that. He likes killing people. Its his life's work. Fast, slow, messy, accident or just efficient. Knives, poison, bomb; but an artist with his hands or a gun. My dad taught him. "

The teenager then paid attention to his breakfast, wishing for CocoPops or Frosties rather than the choice of grey scrambled eggs or over salted oats. That bit of overt sharing would have the guards eying up a 20million payday, if they were sneaky enough.

Cossack was having a hard time maintaining his control, though none here would guess that he was thoroughly amused at the game being played, with the teenager picking on the weakest here. He understood Alex's moral umbrage with the fundamentalists, his career choice meant he worked for who paid; often such insane people. Though could empathise that Alex, like his father John, preferred killing those they judged abhorrent. He had found it satisfying when he chose to ignore the Board and liquidate Herod Sayle. He stretched and was looking forward to his time outside this morning. He would do yoga and pilates, a carefully crafted routine for strength, endurance and flexibilty, one he developed while living in plain sight. It seemed graceful and calm yet was as effective for overall tone as Yermalov's brutal classes.

In the cold October morning, damp and breezy, Alex carefully copied the assassin's routine move for move, memorising each stretch and hold. At the end, the teenager appreciated its efficiency, noting the beauty in the detail proved that the Russian was a killing machine. Hiding the true nature of the moves, like katas but made to look like an exercise done by any businessman or fitness enthusiast. The teenager was the product of Malagosto, hard lessons he would never forget. It was over a year since leaving the school for assassins, alive against all odds. That fact alone should make all who knew of him wary.

….

Carlos watched from the shelter provided by the wall of the birdwatcher's hut. The kid and Cossack were obviously brothers in arms, yet he guards were wary of the assassin and tried to protect the boy. He was not a betting man, but the killer was trying to entice the boy, groom him. He smiled cruelly, watching the watchers. The silent one was laid low by sins of the flesh.

…..

At dinner, Alex looked at the menu selection and asked "What's the vegetarian alternative?" So, mash and frozen veg minus the congealed lamb was heaped on his plate. The teenager then refused pudding with a sneering putdown, "Custard is a crime against humanity." Which made Courtney bellow with laughter.

Rat walked through after watching the kid make a sculpture out of his potato, and dropped a Mars Bar next to Cub's plate. "Eat up, its my last one."

Alex grinned, jumped up in excitement and hugged the medic, as the guard on duty's gun was cocked at such a sudden move. The teenager moved back, arms up and then shouted clear with his hands on show, palms out and fingers extended. Cobra, Rat and Snake would be horrified by the presumption the kid was the enemy. His former team mate was firmly of the opinion Cub was like a SAS mini-me, helping break the clearly defined lines between them and us.

The dynamic was shifting and Alex was living Cossack the opportunity to exploit loyalties and emotional ties. Deep down, he did not expect anything good to come of escaping. The odds stacked against success, yet trying and failing was better than accepting the status quo. By failing, Alex knew death was the likely scenario. Played the right way, one of the guards would talk to his foster family as conscience overcame orders. These men were ethical and moral at heart, most with young families; aware that MI6 were disregarding a child's welfare. The conflict of interest included the fact that Alex's dad had been SAS.

…

Cobra's report included the fact the kid obviously disliked the food served. No burgers or pizzas here to cater for the teenager's taste buds. He empathised as custard was his own bete noire. Cub ate everything with ketchup, just like his own kid brother. He sat back and pondered the morning's impromptu exercise class outside. They were being forced to isolate Cub, by the regime here. Why had MI6 set the kid here and not Credenhill? He would have been just as safe, guarded 24/7 by the whole regiment; with kids and families about; fast food easily available and tutors for schooling.

The career soldier knew games were being played, but to what end? Cobra shivered, like someone walking on his grave. The kid was trying to appear cheerful, but it was false. He stood to do a full locker and safety check. Snake said Cub was a pickpocket. The possibilities for self harm needed to be thoroughly assessed and all areas made safe. The guys were going to hate this health and safety exercise.


	7. Chapter 7

Hand signals and brief whispered exchanges of conversation made Alex's desire for Yassen grow. He was a moth drawn to a flame. However, hormones were not enough to override his underlying foreboding of his planned escape. The truth was, here in prison he was safe, alive and very protected. Only, he did not trust MI6 and their altruistic excuses given for placing him here. The same prison as his uncle's murderer, what were they expecting to happen? What had the analyst's predicted? They probably expected him to go postal and try to top Cossack, like he was stupid enough to antagonise a man who made death and pain his life's work.

With two days until the supply run, the teenager dutifully got up for breakfast, drank three mugs of tea and then went back to bed, to huddle under a pile of blankets until it was time for lunch. Attendance at meals was mandatory, no other activity was. The only thing Alex enjoyed at the moment was going outside, where he was closely followed by his own bodyguard to make sure he kept away from the cliffs.

At ten, Snake knocked on the open door, bringing with him a tray of tea and a packet of biscuits. "Bad day, Cub?"

The teenager emerged from his nest with his blond hair flattened on one side, making him look his age. "Yeah, well. Nightmares last night. Only I can't go out for a run or have a bath here. That sort of thing helps a bit. Liz used to make me camomile tea. The therapist told me to keep a detailed journal of the night terrors and their triggers. It was about Julius and that school last night." The young man shivered and rolled over in his bed, face to the wall. He mumbled to his guest, "nice thought Snake, but I'll pass until lunch."

…

"He was seeing a therapist in San Francisco. He's got classic PTSD and depression and is quite happy to wallow. Its not as if we can get him on medication or modify meal plans to be a bit more teen friendly. I feel like I'm the bad guy here, cause I get to go home and then he'll loose all familiarity. Next rotation won't give a fuck if Cub crawls into bed with that killer. We have history, we were both a Brecon when the squirt stuck out all the hazing. None of the others were. Orders state he refused treatment. In a month, I bet it'll be his funeral."

Cobra ate the chocolate digestive. Then added his sage advice. "Its like Otter all over again. He stated he was fine and dandy after that FUBAR in Fallujah, then goes on leave and shoots himself. We can only be there, offer help. Keep trying to get threw to him Snake, but don't expect the kid to trust you. Cub's in no man's land here. Not one of us and not one of them. Might be easier for him if he threw in his lot with that Cossack."

….

Alex had observed all his guards, ranging from Cobra and Snake, the annoying mother hens, to the trigger happy Dino and Rizzo: who followed every move the teenager made with both eyes and weapons. The routine changed during supply runs, as their was an hour when all exterior doors were locked. Before that, full team exercise including a security sweep of all areas starting at breakfast. Then all inmates had to go to their cells. Tomorrow the only guards inside were the two youngest and most likely to panic.

At lunch, Alex sat with Cossack and he mumbled in Spanish. "I'm going for an intervention tomorrow, just before lockdown. You need to be in my cell at 10:37 and play saviour, so we both get into sickbay. Its going to look real, it has to look real. I have tried to calculate the margins of error. If it goes wrong, don't hesitate get out of here." Alex's depression has not been playacting. He had been aware of the psychological damage since he first crossed paths with Julius. He was not the full basket as the saying went. Snake, Rat and Cobra had lost friends due to PTSD, they knew the real deal and were concerned for the kid that wasn't their team mate. He'd been diagnosed with depression in San Francisco. Four sessions of psychotherapy had barely touched on the hurt and alienation caused by MI6. Surely, they would have known he'd react badly to imprisonment. If the escape attempts failed, he'd never leave high security detention. Alex knew he wasn't most things: not a schoolkid, not MI6's anything nor SCORPIA's, not happy, not healthy, not well adjusted. He pushed his plate of uneaten food at Yassen and shrugged "Do you want it? I'm not hungry. Never liked army food and its not like I need the calories since I'm doing sweet FA."

"Eat the vegetables" ordered the man in the same tone he had once stated he killed lots of people, off hand and casual but meaning the opposite.

As the fifteen year old ate the awful rations, he pondered his plan of shocking the most complacent here. Alex had gotten the idea for his diversion from Yassen, who could move room to room avoiding the cameras, when he wanted to be unnoticed. Alex knew the camera bracket in the corner of his cell would take his weight. During his last trip outside he had procured a 2m length of rope, just the business for his slight of hand. He was planning drama rather than a real hang mans fracture. Ian's masterplan of training had included free diving; Alex knew he could last about six minutes without a breath, if he prepared properly. Under the blankets, he had been practicing. The corner position of the wall bracket in his cell meant he could brace his weight against the wall with his feet. He just had to get in the zone, to be motionless, like a corpse and suppress his natural instincts to fight for life.

…..

Three weeks of nothing since Alex's last text to Edward stating that Mrs. Jones was the Queen Bitch of the Universe. Sabina's father had a sinking feeling he had precipitated this estrangement when the journalist and his wife had applied to adopt Alex through the family court in California. Before the assessment from the Department of Children's and Family Services had been lodged, the said bitch had immediately recalled her ward to London. He had no idea where Alex could be, as he was not at Brookland and Chelsea and Kensington Social Services were not returning his calls. His numerous emails and phone messages to Mrs. Jones were being ignored. After a summer with their foster son, it was like Alex no longer existed. His daughter was getting righteously angry as was his wife. He had a nagging doubt about the teenager, who had thanked him for the sessions with the psychologist as he was not coping and needed help to reconnect with normal and that they had been the first people to look out for his health and wellbeing since Ian passed. Now, the same people that had blackmailed, neglected and abused him controlled his future. Summing up the little he did know, things were not going to end well.


	8. Chapter 8

Cossack was emotionally compromised by Little Alex, the assassin had not empathised nor cared for anyone since Sharkovsky. He had admired Hunter, owed him his life; but he had felt nothing at his death, as the man had been playing a very dangerous juggling act between his apprentice, his family, MI6 and SCORPIA. Alex was so very different from his father, more like himself escaping from Estrov, both slaves to circumstance. Only, Yasha had been a happy child once, the Russian was not sure he could say that about John's son. The boy he had first met in Cornwall had an air of desperation and deep melancholy, with little regard to his own welfare bordering on a death wish, only tempered by fact his uncle had trained him so ruthlessly.

The escape plan was brilliant in its simplicity, as the tactics proposed revealed a cold and calculating side of Little Alex, as he planned to use his own psychological issues to get access to the supply helicopter. The affect of cost cutting had made such a ploy possible as a doctor on call would have insisted that the teen be hospitalised immediately after the first incident of self harm.

The teenager needed a partner, even if he had the skills to get to the helicopter alone. The young spy had decided against trying to force the Army pilot to comply. That option was deemed extremely high risk, as Alex could not pilot the machine himself and had nowhere to go and no means to escape and evade. The assassin had a network of escape options in play for every eventuality considering his careful paranoia due to his chosen profession. He had hidden cashes of supplies and contacts to help him gain a credible legend to move freely and stay free. With the margin for error still high enough, that the prone invalid was willing to sacrifice himself for his partner to get away and still make it look like the Russian had used the situation to his advantage on the spur of the moment opportunity.

The Russian wanted the pair of them to escape. It was madness to think beyond purely physical desire. Cossack was sure of their connection, attraction heightened by the fact they could not touch. The youngster had anticipated he was best placed to play foil and most likely hostage to the big bad wolf. An 'unconscious' teenager would be carried under guard to the medical room. From there, the solitary guard could easily be incapacitated and the other guards forced to comply by the assassin threatening to harm their 'cub'.

Cossack had an additional plan, as each inmate here had a large bounty. Any problems over his period incapacitated would be solved by collecting multiple paydays on his escape. He was sure Alex would approve, MI6 had pushed their young protege into a corner and he had few morals to hold him back now.

…

Rizzo watched the kid. The soldier was trying to maintain objectivity, but Cobra had told him to protect Cub first, not treat him like the others. That fifteen-year old was far too chummy with the assassin for his liking. All the more suspicious when the kid had let slip the Russian was some sort of family friend; when Cell Seven looked like he was grooming the kid to get in his pants. Classic scenario when the youngest were prey in this unnatural environment of enforced celibacy. The kid maybe gay, but as Snake said that killer was no-ones ideal first partner as he was a grade A psychopath. The young welshman had already accounted for every penny of his hazard pay, with a wedding to pay for, house downpayment to secure and the fact guarding eight enemies of the state was a cake walk in comparison to the alternatives of Iraq or Afghanistan.

He was sat in the team meeting as Cobra highlighted the risk of a suicidal teen in the mix. Cell 2 was likely to try something during the supply run, as the prisoners and guards were separated.

Snake offered the only solution. "At eleven, we put the kid in isolation in wrist and ankle restraints. Factor in the need to tranquillise him into compliance. He can't do anything stupid then and there is no risk to anyone else. It means two less guards up top, but two more down here. We do the full security sweep up top like usual before that, with Rizzo and Dino on guard duty as normal. No change in routine until the helicopter is 15 minutes out."

Cobra nodded his approval. "The kid'll hate it, but we have our jobs to do and those fuckers downstairs can't be trusted an inch. If Cub was 100% he would not be here for his own protection. Everything sorted."

….

Alex was keeping tabs on his nervous anticipation as he went through his breathing exercises. He had left a lump of clothes and blankets in the bed as he slithered across the floor to the corner on his belly. He pulled the rope from the sleeve of his shirt and practiced his knots, just like Ian had taught him. At this precise moment in time, the blond youth did not care if he fucked this up and actually topped himself. He could here Courtney talking away to everyone and no-one as was his usual morning routine at tea break. Four big deep breaths and the rope was round his neck, the construction real as he surpassed the panic and meditated. Counting down from sixty to zero, his full weight was on the rope around his neck. He was a still as a corpse. In twenty minutes the prisoners would either be free, or dead.

…..

Cossack sipped his glass of water watching all the other prisoner's drinking the tea he had made accompanied by shortbread. Snacks provided to try and tempt the teenager to socialise and to eat more than the little forced on him by the mothering assassin at lunch and dinner. The ex-UN inspector was his usual annoying self. The second part of a two part poison had just been administered. All here would be dead by nightfall as full shutdown of the base would mean the toxin induced comas would be beyond all medical help by the time the guards realised their charges were ill. It was not often Cossack employed his botanical skills, but the mix of seaslug and plant essence was a mix of sedative and neurotoxin to suppress breathing and cause brain death. Slow acting and relatively painless and only guaranteed successful if left to act over four hours without medical intervention. The base here did not have the facilities to analyse or neutralise any poisons. Such a grave oversight considering Malagosto had taught him hundreds of ways to kill.

…

The Coastguard station in Portadown caught a brief message in a sea of static "Mayday…Mayday …Mayday….Golf ….Echo…. niner… seven. Position….. zero…. over."

On the same emergency frequency the radio operator tried unsuccessfully to contact this unlisted light n distress "Please repeat… message registration and position incomplete. Please resend… OVER."

There was only static on the open frequency as the operator called Prestwick Air Control to see if they had the unlisted military flight on their radar.


	9. Chapter 9

Dino was sat reading, when out of the corner of his eye he clocked the Russian move with impossible speed into Cell 2, where the kid was in his usual position, in bed covered head to toe by his blankets. "Cell 2 emergency …. Fuck Rizzo, get the others under lockdown the fucking assassin has made his move on the kid." The soldier picked up his taser and firearm and went to sort this situation out as it looked like there would be two punishment cells occupied today. The kid's door was open fully, but he could not see the Russian, he then listened as the killer gave instructions, "Guard…. medical emergency….. Cub, he has tried to hang himself. If you enter, you will see I am holding him. I need you to cut him down before I assess the damage."

The soldier entered on full alert, taser in hand, to see the fifteen year old in the killer's arms, floppy and unresponsive. "Is he breathing?'

"No… Need to do CPR… cut him down. He.. he needs help now."

Assessing this worse case scenario, the guard pocketed the taser and stows it safety, before pulling out his combat knife, eyes on the prisoner. The kid, pale, motionless was cut down and put on the floor.

Cossack's full attention was on checking the unconscious's teenager's Airway, Breathing and Circulation, then giving the kid three rescues breaths. The assassin allowing the guard to do his job as he became medic. "He's not breathing properly, heart is still beating. I can perform a tracheotomy. There is survival tools and oxygen in the infirmary. I will carry him."

…

Dino was nursing a serious concussion as Rizzo was questioned by the MI6 officer handling the interrogations, still feeling the aftereffects of being tazered. "The communal space was clear, when Dino exited in front of Cossack and Cub. I was back in the guardroom. Three of them went straight to the infirmary, it was about 10:50. Everyone else was doing full drill upstairs, the helicopter already approach. The kid was unconscious as I watched, the Russian attending, Dino had his gun out and was covering both of them as protocol states. Cossack got supplies from the nurses office, put Cub on oxygen. Said the kid was stable and Dino motioned clearly told Cell 7 to go back in his cell for lockdown. The bastard must have clocked Dino when I lost sight of them on the monitors, a bind spot between the kitchen and hospital access points. Got him god and proper according to Snake. He came out of nowhere and tazered me. So, there you have it assassin had a knife, gun and keys. All the others were already locked in their cells, Cub was out of it. Thats all I know until, I woke with Rat giving me the once over."

"The kid, Cub, he wasn't faking it. I saw the noose around his neck, the ligature marks. Fuck, the rope was in the rain shelter, attached to the lifebuoy and none of us noticed it was missing. What a bunch of useless tossers we all are. Kid wants to die and that fucking SCORPIA bastard in Cell 7 is likely to take his time about it. I didn't know that murderer had taken him until Rat told me. Last I saw he was lying in the hospital worse for wear."

….

Snake was the next soldier to be interviewed. "I knew Cub was getting worse, nightmares, lethargy, loss of appetite and two suicide attempts in as many weeks. I bet Cossack manipulated him the whole time." The medic sighed, knowing the assassin had planned this perfectly, the escape was no last minute bid for freedom, not when he poisoned all the prisoners. The Russian got guns, keys and knew the door code. Must have been watching while on kitchen duty with Courtney covering for him. Cub was still mostly out of it when they got to the helicopter with that fucking Russian using him as a shield. Livid marks on his neck, could barely talk but Alex told us to shoot through him. Our orders regarding Cub were clear, protect not kill. He's as good as dead anyway. That bastard will rape him first. Rizzo should have tasered him before he cut Cub down, not handed a killer his fucking escape route. The Russian got the pilot to kneel with the rest of us, told Cobra to tie us all up then shot him in the leg."

Cobra had been shot and they had watched the helicopter begin its assent. Their weapons in the sea. Snake and the stranded soldiers first priority had been to get untied, then attend their injured teammates as Cobra was bleeding out. It had been 12 minutes before the alarm was raised."

The MI5 investigator already knew it had been another 28 minutes until the aircraft made an emergency call and ditched into the sea off Donegal. Air sea rescue and the local lifeboat finding no sign of the prisoners. Divers had yet to assess the wreck. The Garda had not been informed that two highly dangerous prisoners had escaped, that was a state secret. A kill on sight order had been issued to three SIS sniper teams. Agents that would not hesitate to kill both kidnapper and his hostage.

There were five terminally ill prisoners, who would die and be buried on Raasay, in unmarked graves. A clean up crew already on their way. Two seriously injured soldiers and the rest of the guards would be helicoptered off in the morning, to be fully debriefed at Credenhill and the investigator would write his report in 48 hours for the awaiting shit storm in London.

...

Alex was guarded by two paramilitaries as Cossack argued with Seamus O'Brennan, IRA liaison with SCORPIA in fast fluent Arabic, to keep their conversation private.

"Is a bed and a shower out of the question?" rasped the prisoner. "You confiscated my lube and condoms. Me and Yasha have unfinished business of the getting jiggy with it kind." The teenager waggled his eyebrows at the IRA general.

Seamus stopped his rant mid flow and stared at the Russian for a minute before realising that MI6's child soldier was not joking. "You are lovers?"

Cossack gave his usual indifferent shrug, "young willing virgins are my type." He then grinned like a shark. "Rider is mine. No arguments. You have a wife and five children anyway. Do I shock you? Maybe you also took lovers in jail? Not much else to do but fuck?"

The Irishman cursed in his Gaelic. Then nodded to the stairs, "the bathroom and bedroom upstairs are yours to use. Keep the boy shackled, then bugger him all you want. I'll have transport and papers ready for you and your toy tomorrow evening. Declan will call you down for meals. It's good to see you survived Cray and MI6. I owe the boy for liquidating Rahzim, anyway."

The room upstairs needed airing, the guard placed clean bedding on the chair along with Alex's lube and condoms. The Russian made up the double bed then went to run a bath. He then started removing Alex's clothes with his stolen SAS knife.

It was strangely erotic, bring shit scared and aroused at the same time. Alex knew he should try not to talk and let Yasha lead, not much he could do anyways his hands were cuffed behind his back.


	10. Chapter 10

Alex woke with Yassen tenderly kissing the bruises on his neck. The adrenalin rush of the escape and evade, questioning and then losing his virginity had resulted a night of undisturbed sleep despite the cuffs around his wrists, tied to the bedframe. Alex smiled, enjoying the lingering ache in his backside and thinking about the pleasure of being fucked last night and whispered "Fuck me again, Yasha."

The Russian chuckled as he stretched and got up, dressing in ill fitting clothes in fluid, silent movements like a dancer. "You might have recovered from our nocturnal activities, but I need breakfast first. Sounds and smells like Declan has cooked a full fry."

Alex leaned to kiss his lover as his hands were untied, as the fifteen year old stood he winced in discomfort. Noting his pain made Yassen possessive. "I'm starved, but you destroyed my clothes. I doubt those fellas downstairs wasn't to see me in all my glory."

"Hand-me-downs have been provided. My prison garb have also been burned. Lets eat."

…

No one said anything as the fifteen year old was still restrained in his cuffs this morning, only now his hands were to his front. Declan chained the kid's ankles to the table before removing the cuffs, knowing that the teenager was more than capable of killing them all just for the amusement of the Russian. Then again, Cossack had not argued with Seamus that Rider was dangerous, doubly so as he had no loyalty to anyone, not even cold hard cash.

Declan watched the boy carefully cut up, chew and swallow his eggs, leaving the meat and bread, though he drank tea, his throat must be tender as it was a mass of bruises. The fifty five year old tried not to think the kid looked like his own youngest, who was more interested in girls, gaming, football and music than politics nor the family business. This one had been declared an enemy of the state before taking his GCSEs and was not even shaving, none here would argue he had the right to bed who he wanted and when he wanted considering he was doing a man's job and his sticking two fingers up at MI6 was the best news for all here. Though prison tended to make strange bedfellows. The kid only had a shirt around his shoulders, open to his waist so all saw the scar from a bullet wound just above his heart.

As the teenager drank his third cup of strong sweet tea, his eyes were on the Russian. As their eyes met Rider looked up, signalling his hope for another round of fucking. The two guards had played cards last night and listened to the muffled sounds of the pair well into the night.

….

The seclusion of the Donegal farm lasted less than a day after the perfection of consummation of the escaped prisoner's pent up desire. Seamus returned at six the next evening with bad news. "I have a van outside, loaded with charity boxes for the poor motherless orphans in Africa. MI6 have placed kill on sight order on both of you. Three search and destroy teams crossed the border and its no longer safe here. Both of you need to be hidden in the back. We leave now for Dun Laoghaire, we'll stop for fuel just outside Dublin and you'll transfer to a taxi. A private jet will be waiting near Athlone." The Irishman rubbed his neck, it had been a stressful few hours, finding out the British were willing to kill one of their own rather than let him be free from their influence. "I was going to offer the lad sanctuary here. No one in SCORPIA would dare to go against me, neither would the British, normally. You'll be flying to Azerbaijan, then on to Hanoi. Dr. Three has heard of your freedom, your liquidating the other prisoners and your hostage. Its not a request, but a summons. There's no running from that man. Come on, then." In his heart, ever the realist, the Director of SCORPIA's remaining assets in Europe was of the opinion that the old board had made too many enemies and too many mistakes. The rationalisation of the organisation had been overdue, with simpler goals. Rider was the scapegoat for Rothmans, Wu and Kursk's mistakes.

…..

Alex had no fear of death, not anymore. Dr. Three was fascinated by his lack of self preservation and suicidal tendencies. The interrogations involved no pain, just conversations and the old man played the part of confessor excellently. The fifteen year old had talked for hours and hours, about everything from Ian, Blunt, blackmail, to training, operations and Yassen. The expert in the psychology of interrogation was a world renown doctor, specialising in personality disorders. After a year with no control and no hope of ever being normal, Alex knew he was an interesting case, proving the point that using and abusing teenagers did huge amounts of damage. His life mirroring that of a Russian teenager who found his escape becoming a killer, no wonder he felt closer to Yassen than any other.

He lay on the cot, staring at the brightly lit ceiling, aware that enforced sleep deprivation was no worse than his own insomnia and nightmares. He whistled, lowered his pyjamas and started to jerk off, wishing it was his lover touching him.

….

Yassen watched the video feed showing his teenager lover masturbate. Stoic, silent and passive in the company of Dr. Three, as he was well aware that his own life hung in the balance. The seventy-five year old Chairman of SCORPIA had never wanted the position and did not have the youth, drive or energy to rebuild what had been destroyed during the power struggle after the retirement of Max Grendel.

It was the doctor who broke the silence. "Your moment in the sun is over. I have known you for nearly twenty years, you do not waste emotions, you are a survivor. Either you die with that boy or you live for him as Rider has bargained for your life. Retire or continue to be what you are."

"He is to die then."

Dr. Three smiled grimly. "Your orders were clear after the failure of the Stormbreakers. He has no qualms about dying. Knows he has been living on borrowed time. He cannot go home as all that idyll is confined to the past. That housekeeper's selfishness to go back to America and not take him with her has done irreparable damage to an already traumatised young man. His ploy to free you in Scotland, was for you to go and leave him to hang himself. He did not care if you killed all in your bid for freedom." The doctor pondered what a wonderful specimen the spy was, conditioned since childhood. A perfect weapon mishandled from the start and left to rot, when howe no longer responded to threats. "If the Board had given me Rider last year, we would have been stronger. Only they would never have handed me the perfect soldier to control. That bitch Rothmans wanted everything her own way. Kursk was no better. Never seeing the promise of Rider's training. Now, he has made his bargain. What is your choice, Cossack? SCORPIA has need of new directors. In a position of power you can still strike at MI6 for destroying your young lover."

…..

Alex smiled at his interrogator and tried to relax as much as the uncomfortable chair, ankle shackles and wrist restraints allowed. "May the condemned man have a last request?"

Dr. Three smiled back and pondered the odd request as the MI6 spy had not once begged for his life. "Ask, I cannot guarantee I will grant your final wish."

Slumping forward and placing his head in his hands for support on the table, Alex was fully aware this man could kill him extremely slowly if he wanted too. "In our third session, we discussed my fear of vivisection from Point Blanc, fear of the dark, being cut up piecemeal for Wu's transplant hospital. MI6 are well aware about these phobias that fuel my night terrors. Kidneys, liver, cornea, eyes, whatever you can harvest. I want to be a donor, not just a corpse. My heart is fucked, the doctor's told me I had enough damage from the assassination to be worried about long term. The Bank didn't bother send me for any checkups so send that lump of meat to Mrs Jones."


	11. Chapter 11

All courier packages into the Royal and General Bank were scanned in a secure room. The courier this morning had dropped off a live organ box. The Security Office assumed it was a mistake, but the 'Private and Confidential' recipient was Mrs. Tulip Jones at this address. An envelope accompanied it. It contained a single SD card. No other message, no return address and the delivery guy had just shrugged at the door and stated, "no refunds, no returns, not my problem. Call my boss at the Enfield Depot".

The SD card would go upstairs, to a stand alone machine, which would scan for viruses or tracking bugs. The white and blue cool box contained a single organic package, surrounded by inert material, roughly 500g in size. That was placed in the cleared pile, as the scanner technician went back to his pile to clear or destroy.

There was five formats of the same video, which showed the gaunt, visibly exhausted escapee, Alex Rider, wearing heavy duty wrist restraints chained in place as a high risk prisoner. He was smiling, obviously drugged. After a short pause, the prisoner started talking "Hi, this video message is for Mrs. Jones, MI6, London." At this the teenager started giggling. "Fuck, sorry, but I love truth serum, its kind of a good mix of high and being free for the first time in years. No masks, no lies. Right, right. I gotta get to the point, but I really just want to sing Me and Mrs. Jones, like a lot. I really cannot carry a tune so I'll spare all here that. Sooooo, its goodbye, definitely not Hasta La Vista, cause, well, me and the good doctor have an understanding. I like interrogations, its kinda like therapy, only I feel more me here, now, than I have since Ian .. since that funeral… The point is…. the game….the great game….. I never wanted to be part of this, so you lose. I know I'm on death row here, but this is better than your alternative. So, like I said in London. Suck my dick, bitch. Hope you like the present."

…

In Washington DC, a call came through to the CIA that one of their persons of interest had been found dead. As the case officer, Joe Byrne personally went to the crime scene. At the Hotel Excelsior, was a place the CIA, DEA and FBI had used for sting operations. The whole place closed for refurbishment after a lobby fire and with a grand reopening planned in the spring. A young, keen FBI officer met the Deputy Director and let his mouth go. "Right, the kid, Alexander John Rider, fifteen, British. Exited the US in September, no reentry noted at any ports or airports. Clothes neatly folded, wallet containing £25, a High School ID Card for San Mateo in California and your business card, no phone. Just to warn you it looks like a snuff film in here. Dead about 10 hours. Body placed, killed elsewhere, a set up. Found by a decorator this morning. Bedding, flowers, champagne on ice and vodka martinis all placed like some low rent spy movie. Room wired for sound and cameras behind ceiling and room mirrors in the main and bathroom. No actual video or tape though. Kid's been sliced up professionally. All organs and plasma are gone from head to toe. Medical examiner says its a competent clean up job on the corpse, ready for a funeral, not as set dressing. Recent sexual activity, rough with some tearing and bruising of the anal cavity, bruising on wrists and body, also bites, no clear teeth patterns, his necks a mess, the bruising there over a week old. Clean of DNA. Forensics say the whole floor is clean never mind the room."

As a career spy, the scene before him was not unusual. This was not the first operative killed as a message from SCORPIA and it would not be the last. Alex looked like the life had been sucked out of him by a vampire, leaving a husk behind. Byrne covered his mouth as bile rose in his throat. He took out his handkerchief. Then started talking, using the rough outline of the truth and keeping operational details to the minimum. "I worked with his uncle, MI6, killed in the line of duty in February 2001. Alex went a bit off the rails, vandalism, arson, running away. Met up with him three, no four times. Helped him out, when I could, but MI6 were meant to be handling his security and foster placements. Fuck, Tulip will be destroyed by this. She's my counterpart in London. Fuck, fuck… this is SCORPIA being sick and twisted. The kid was involved with the Cray business on Air Force One. SCORPIA wanted payback. That bluet wound on his chest was last October. The kid survived a sniper hit. Guess, his luck ran out."

….

Yassen Gregorovich watched the live video feed from Washington and clenched his hands into fists as the CIA bastard actually cried.

Dr. Three was smiling, appreciating the irony of grief when these abusers had caused this. "Alexander has a bleak sense of humour. The little touches were so him. I should see these Bond movies he was referring to." The interrogator then turned his attention back to the assassin, "Soon, these sessions will be over. As Director of Training, you can then start playing cat and mouse with the SAS, MI6 and the CIA. Remember your lost love like I do. My Qing Shan dead in 1959 by murdered by American mercenaries of the CIA. The first to pay should be Ms. Starbright. You must remember control and patience are your allies in the path of revenge".


End file.
